


Kinds of Kisses

by kidcarma



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Despair Era, Drabbles, Jabberwock Island (Dangan Ronpa), Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Requests, Towa City, prompts from tumblr, rated as mature cause they get a little frisky but theres nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidcarma/pseuds/kidcarma
Summary: There are many different kinds of kisses to share.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 13
Kudos: 283





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> i reblogged a kiss prompt list on tumblr and here are the requests!

10\. "Goodbye" Kiss | Kamukoma

The buildings have been crumbling around them for quite some time, reduced to each brick and bolt and beam. They’ve long overstayed their welcome here, in Towa City.

He knows where to find her. She’s nothing but ones and zeroes now. But he knows where he’ll find her if he just looks, and there is nothing anchoring him down to this ghost town anymore.

Kamukura ducks smoothly under the two by four that’s nailed to the doorway they’ve become familiar with, the one that Komaeda still manages to knock his head on every once in a while, and his grip on the chain doesn’t slacken until he’s guided his servant to the mattress. It’s pushed into the corner, and a blue tarp is slung over the windows to block the few beams of light that manage to slip through the silhouettes of crumbling skyscrapers and wake them up at the most ungodly hours of the morning. Tuning out the screams and occasional gunshots is intrinsic, yet the sun still seems to be rising. 

“What would you have me do now, Kamukura?”

“Rest,” the order is simple. “You’ve had a long day.”

“I didn’t do much of anything,” Komaeda laments through his grin, lowering himself to the mattress without protest. It gives beneath him, though not much, no matter how worn and willing it is, there’s not much weight to Komaeda. “Kamukura always does most of the work.”

“You’re still tired.”

Komaeda doesn’t even bother to suppress the yawn that tears through his smile, meeting Kamukura’s level gaze through it all- Kamukura is right. There’s no reason in the pretense of pretending he’s not.

Kicking off his shoes, Komaeda reclines fully, only hesitating for a moment before his arms reach up skyward, coaxing Kamukura down with him. It’s above his place, to be asking for anything from Kamukura, but it’s become such a habit between them that it comes so easily.

Kneeling on the concrete, Kamukura bends, his lips meeting Komaeda’s eager mouth, arms slung over his shoulders. There’s no sweetness, bitterness, Kamukura’s kisses are so practiced but most of the time, so empty, except Komaeda finds it difficult to mind as he gasps shakily, a steady hand brushing against his torso as it pushes up the fabric of his sweater. He lets out a needy whine, arching into the touch, when another gasp rips from his throat again, at a small pinch in the newly exposed skin and muscle there.

Pulling back a fraction, Komaeda’s eyes fill with a sharp, hot panic, and then they’re flooding with understanding as his grip on Kamukura starts to weaken.

“Kamukura is so cruel,” Komaeda grins tearfully, dark spots entering his vision, coolness running through his veins. This was inevitable. Kamukura was bound to grow bored of him one day.

“Don’t fight it.”

“Goodb…”

He’s already out. Not dead. Just out. This was the easiest way.  
Kamukura lowers Komaeda back down to the mattress fully, smoothing the fabric of his sweater down, and he tosses the syringe off to the side. It rolls apathetically across the cement, stopped in its path when it hits the wall. His footfalls are silent as he exits the building.

“Goodbye.”

58\. Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/Onto The Bed | Komahina 

The moment the door closes behind them, Hinata utters a swear as he finds himself supporting what is almost the full weight of Komaeda’s body, arms slung over his shoulders, hands clasped behind his neck.

“Fuck-” he murmurs into the kiss, letting his hands fall to Komaeda’s waist in spite of himself. “Seriously?”

“No talking,” Komaeda comments oh-so hypocritically, starting to walk Hinata backwards, toward the bed presumably. “Only kissing.”

That’s- that’s fine. Hinata can do that. He grumbles.  
As much as his friends like to poke fun at him for being dense, Hinata can’t deny that he’d sensed Komaeda’s urgency back in the dining hall. There were some things so obvious that he couldn’t miss. This was one of them.  
Only for a second does he feel silly, shuffling across the hardwood floor, a tangle of limbs and messy kisses that are desperate at best and distracted at most. They were denied the chance to have their teenage years of awkwardness in intimacy. They can have it now.

Komaeda keeps pushing, one hand- the metal one- working its way lower as Hinata slides his own hand up under the hem of Komaeda’s shirt in tandem.  
He lets out another curse as Komaeda backs him up too harshly, hitting his leg on the bedpost.

“Sorry,” Komaeda gasps into the kiss, not sounding sorry at all.

There’s barely a moment’s respite and Komaeda keeps walking, and Hinata knows he has more coordination than this but it’s so difficult to focus on putting your feet in a steady path when there are fingers fumbling with the zipper on your pants.

Idly, Hinata pulls Komaeda’s bottom lip between his teeth and that’s enough to make Komaeda jerk, sending Hinata in a direction he hadn’t meant to go, banging his hip bone on the nightstand.

“Ouch-! _Komaeda._ ”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

He’s not sorry at all.

Hinata grabs him by the shirt collar, spins around, pinning him to the wall. It’s enough to rattle him. There. Now they’re even.  
This is much better. His hip still hurts though.

74\. Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap | Kamukoma 

For as much as Kamukura hates pattern, hates predictability, no matter what hotel room they move into, he claims one of the chairs as his own, without fail. Tucked into the corner, next to a table so that way he has a convenient place to set his book down when he’s done reading.

Or alternatively when Komaeda crawls into his lap.

This is their dynamic, always, and time is no different, Komaeda is kneeling contentedly on the floor by Kamukura’s feet, eyes round and pleading, waiting silently for permission. Permission given in the action of Kamukura closing his book, setting it aside on the polished, wooden surface, making room for Komaeda to situate himself. 

Komaeda is instant in his movements then, straddling Kamukura, kissing him enthusiastically, not at all put off by how unresponsive Kamukura is to the shifting and rolling of hips against his own. It just takes a little more effort to excite Kamukura, whereas Komaeda is so pathetically easy, but he doesn’t mind putting the work in at all.

His hands fumble with Kamukura’s tie, loosening it and then beginning to work at the button of his collar when his blood runs cold at the command “stop.”

Komaeda pulls back as though he’s been burned. Being burned would hurt less than this, he thinks.

“I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t misstepped.”

“Then…” His eyes search Kamukura’s face desperately, trying to place any semblance of a hint in those stoic features as to why he’s been stopped, why he feels like the world is coming crashing down on top of him. “You’re bored.”

“Yes,” Kamukura agrees to the observation with no remorse. Like he’s entirely unaware of the hopeless spiral Komaeda is beginning to lose himself in with such a simple admittance, but Kamukura is never unaware of everything.

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda repeats, hugging his arms to himself as his breaths come in heavy and shuddering. His lungs are filling with something thick and viscous and scalding. “I can’t even entertain you properly anymore.”

“I grow bored of everything, eventually. It is not your fault.”

“I’m useless to you.”

Kamukura tilts his head.  
“No.”

The word barely reaches his ears. This is it. This is all he has to offer. Himself. His body. His services. He’s utterly hopeless at everything else, and existence means nothing if it’s not to serve. To serve Kamukura, specifically. No one else will ever own him so wholly. 

Torn from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, Komaeda sucks in a gasp of air, struggling to fill his lungs. Kamukura watches silently. Why is he still here? _Why is he still here?_

When Kamukura stands, shifting his grip to the back of Komaeda’s thighs in order to carry him, Komaeda’s grip finds purchase in the crisp, white lines of Kamukura’s shirt and he’s too far gone in his grief to feel guilty about wrinkling the nice fabric. Maybe Kamukura will let him iron it later. 

“Do you know what the solution is, Komaeda, when one becomes bored of tasks so repetitive they’ve become mundane?”

“No,” Komaeda laughs, tinny and watery. Kamukura sets him down on the bed. “I don’t know anything.”

The wind gets knocked from him then, all the air in his lungs gone, suddenly his heart is hammering recklessly beneath his ribcage threatening to beat free, thrumming in his ears as he registers the weight in his lap, the decidedly solidness of Kamukura’s thighs on either side of him, pinning him in on top of the duvet.  
Komaeda lets out a strangled gasp as Kamukura rolls his hips downward, heat creeping along his cheeks and up to his ears.

“You try something new,” Kamukura explains, leaning in like it’s the easiest thing in the world.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added second chapter for the next set of requests. possibly will add a third chapter since ive got a few more requests sitting in my inbox so we'll see!

75\. Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing | Komahina

Hinata tilts his head down and forward again. His eyes burn, and his stomach is empty- he’s been working long past the point of exhaustion but he’s got the privilege of being able to shut those feelings out in favor of doing what he wants to. What he needs to.

His gloved hand sets down the test tube into the rack, not even having to look up from the scope as he does so. It’s muscle memory by now, the light sound of the glass against the wire as it settles, careful not to spill its contents. He’s already discarded the pipette onto his work surface, in favor of squinting into the eyepiece of the shitty microscope that sometimes he finds himself banging the arm when the light dims against his will or jiggling the stage clip when the slide won’t set right. And then he remembers this piece of junk costs probably hundreds of dollars and Naegi won’t exactly be happy if he breaks it.

Hinata’s numb to it as he watches, the slide is lit up in all the ways he hoped it wouldn’t be. Still. Still. He’s had no luck with it but hours are nothing in the face of the universe- he can do this forever if he has to. He _will_ do this forever, if he has to.

His hand rests on the focus knob, twisting it idly as though that meaningless gesture will make any difference. Make the mutating cells under their magnification suddenly disappear.

He’s about to reach for another pipette when he jumps, a frail hand resting on his shoulder suddenly jolting him from his trance.

Reeling, Hinata whips his head around, wincing as it only serves to make the ache behind his eyes worse.

“You should be in bed.”

He tries not to look at the IV pole. The bag of poison hanging from it. He tries. He fails.

“So should you.”

Komaeda leans down, chapped lips pressing against his own and that’s enough to make all the exhaustion hit him at once, it’s so tender and his cheeks are wet now.

“You work so hard,” Komaeda murmurs sadly, and Hinata can’t bear the way his cheeks are sunken in, all sharp angles and Komaeda’s never been soft but this is far too much. “You need a break.”

“I can’t stop,” Hinata shakes his head, voice reedy, and even though Komaeda’s hand is cold when it comes to cup his cheek, he leans into the touch, quickly discarding one of his gloves so he can rest his own hand on top. “I can’t give up on you.”

“You don’t have to give up.” Komaeda kisses him again. “Just come tuck me into bed.”

62\. Lazy Morning Kisses Before They’ve Even Opened Their Eyes, Still Mumbling Half-Incoherently, Not Wanting To Wake Up + 71. A Gentle “I Love You” Whispered After A Soft Kiss, Followed Immediately By A Stronger Kiss | Kamukoma

The sky is stained red. It’s been that way for a few years now. He’s followed her until this end, until he’d gotten his answer.

Despair.

They’d chosen despair. Despair had won.

Komaeda had glowed, eyes twinkling with wonder and with the promise of an even stronger hope, that would bloom from such a tragedy.

Kamukura had said nothing.

He has his answer. Now there is nothing.

Shifting under the sheets, their bed pressed neatly into the corner of the room, Kamukura faces the wall as he sleeps and sleeps and sleeps the days away. It’s routine now, for him to go eighteen, twenty hours without waking, and even in the respites when he does, he vanishes, and Komaeda can’t find him anywhere. Not until he’s back in bed, snoozing soundly. The world is boring. This is what’s left for him now.

Komaeda’s not sure what to do with himself. Without orders. The thought of watching a hope bloom seems so pointless when he’s not by Kamukura’s side. So he sleeps too.

The sun’s cycle has long been blocked out by the crimson horizon, but if Komaeda had to guess, it feels like early morning. He feels consciousness creep up on him, vehemently rejects it, not even bothering to crack his eyes open as he sidles up to Kamukura under the blankets, his bare chest pressed against the skin of Kamukura’s back and he slings an arm over Kamukura’s waist.

There’s a small grumble.

Still clinging to the vestiges of sleep, Komaeda exhales through his nose, pressing a faint kiss to Kamukura’s shoulder, sweeping the hair out of the way groggily and he kisses the nape of Kamukura’s neck. His lips find purchase on every bit of skin he can find, not even half aware of it all, until he jolts from sleep again, and now he’s slung over Kamukura who has shifted onto his back.

It’s so easy to kiss Kamukura like this, when they’re both addled by drowsiness and Komaeda can’t find it in himself to ask permission as he presses his lips softly to Kamukura’s own.

There’s the telltale slide of skin on skin, Kamukura shifting as he rouses, eyelids fluttering but refusing to open. He’s conscious though. Every breath, every twitch, Komaeda soaks up like his life depends on it.

He kisses Kamukura tender again, far, far too sweet of an action coming from someone so despicable and vile like him but the thing is that he’s never been able to contain himself when it comes to the man in his arms.

“I love you,” Komaeda whispers desperately. Urgently. _Please. I love you. I need you. I need you to guide me. To tell me what to do. I love you. I’m lost without you. Wake up. Please._

His next kiss is rougher, as though all the words in the forefront of his mind could spill out, pouring into the gesture to make Kamukura understand. He pouts, slick with spit as he finally pulls away, heart pounding in chest as the beats of silence drag on and on and on.

Kamukura sighs. Lazily presses his lips to the corner of Komaeda’s mouth and Komaeda almost sobs at how gently he gets pushed off, pushed away. He doesn’t deserve gentle. He doesn’t want gentle.

Kamukura turns back on his side and falls asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAA i commissioned red for a drawing to go w the second piece in this chapter and she DELIVERED!!! look at those colors. look at THEM!!! this is so beautiful god i am so happy w this thank you again red  
> here is a link to the post u Definitely need to check her stuff out: https://mystxmomo.tumblr.com/post/625391374528856064/a-commission-from-kidcarma-and-then-a-piece-of


	3. 3

26\. Jealous Kiss | Kamukoma

He’d happened upon the bottle when they were passing through a drug store. For his luck, it’s not a stretch. Not at all. Eyes wide and swirling and they’d settled on the tiny thing, sitting neatly upright on the shelf among the rubble as though it had been waiting for him. 

He’d been glowing then, mouth slightly ajar, oblivious to the thin line of drool pooling out from the corner of his lips as Komaeda swiped the bottle of nail polish up, greedily in his good hand, holding it up to the light with some sort of sick fascination. 

“It looks like just her shade. How lucky!” 

Kamukura had said nothing. 

That hue is all too familiar to him. 

Komaeda finds a place for it in their bathroom, smiling brilliantly as he brushes the empty pill bottles aside to make room for his treasure, rubs his thumb lovingly against the glass, before he shuts the cabinet door with a content little hum, chuckling slightly to himself like there’s some kind of inside joke. 

If Kamukura squints, he thinks he could definitely find some kind of sick humor in the situation. 

But it’s of no importance to him. As long as Komaeda can stay focused, bending to his every whim and command, then it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. He’s hindered by one less functional appendage, but he makes it work. He always finds a way to make it work. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. 

Kamukura wanders into the bathroom that night, gaze even. The scene he expects to find. Komaeda under the tinged yellow lights, dimly lit and washed out, the way his head is tilted down exaggerates every hollow and line and makes him appear much more gaunt than usual. And he’s looking down, hunched over himself, sitting on the closed toilet while he stretches his hand across the small gap, resting his- _her_ \- hand on the chipped porcelain of the sink. And that bottle is sitting right next to it. 

The chemical smell is offensive to Kamukura’s nose and he wrinkles it, says nothing but sidesteps Komaeda to open the small bathroom window. It slides against the track and hits the other side with a loud thunk. 

It’s dead silent out, where they’ve found a place to stay. And distantly Kamukura thinks it would be much more pleasing to hear a symphony of screams and gunshots, rather than listen to the way Komaeda is breathing- thin and reedy and wheezing as he stares unblinking down at her hand. 

His good one is uncharacteristically still as he paints, maintaining the chips in her manicure and Kamukura has only ever seen that kind of care in kindness in Komaeda when he’s serving. When he’s buttoning up Kamukura’s shirt. When he’s working out the knots in Kamukura’s hair. When he’s-

“You should have opened the window to ventilate the room before you started.”

“Look,” Komaeda says as he ignores- **ignores** \- Kamukura’s statement. He holds her hand up and Kamukura nearly frowns. “The color matches perfectly. Isn’t it wonderful?” 

It’s almost ridiculous how perfect he’s managing with the upkeep. There are no smudges on the sides of her fingers, on her cuticles. The… the nails aren’t _growing_ anymore so the acrylic never requires a fill. It’s just the paint. And not letting them fall off. Or crack. Somehow they’re in immaculate condition despite the almost undetectable bits of gangrene that are starting to set in. 

Kamukura knows it’s luck that’s been keeping her from rotting and nothing else. 

Komaeda seems unbothered by Kamukura’s lack of response, so he sets her hand down again, and goes back to painting. His cheeks are flushed all the way up to the tips of the ears. 

Everything about the situation Kamukura had expected before he’d even entered the bathroom. Everything except the strange urge that’s starting to settle in his gut. 

Moving in front of Komaeda, Kamukura stands halfway blocking the sink, his hip against Komaeda’s outstretched arm. 

It doesn’t. It doesn’t make _sense_ but he does it anyway. Reaches down to grip Komaeda by the collar and tugs him up, pressing their lips together and it’s almost satisfaction he feels when he hears the polish brush clatter to the ground. 

“Kamukura-“ Komaeda gasps, returning the kiss, reaching to cling to Kamukura’s shirt with his working hand and he gasps again when Kamukura spins him around, pinning his lower back against the sink with so much force it rattles. 

The bottle falls. 

The sick sound of breaking glass fills the room and Komaeda pulls back instantly as though he’s been burned, gaze snapping to the floor where it’s splayed out in a ruined heap. Shards stuck together by the viscous crimson, running out and staining the tiles. 

“Oh.”

His eyes are wet. Kamukura is satisfied.

67\. When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More | Komahina

Hinata gets like this sometimes.   
Komaeda has learned to accept that it’s not his fault, that Hinata just takes it upon himself to shoulder the weight of their world, and won’t put the burden on anyone else. Even if the others insist that he let them help out once in a while. His mind is a twisting maze, a tangled stream of consciousness, and even though Hinata never fails to turn away from him, Komaeda hasn’t stopped offering. 

Slipping out of the bathroom, rivulets of water clinging to his hair and dripping down the back of his neck, Komaeda’s eyes fall to Hinata, who is already curled up on his side in bed, facing away, tucked neatly under the covers. There, Komaeda joins him, scooting closer still but too afraid to touch. 

“Hey,” he says, and if he lifts his head to look, he can see the silent shine of tear tracks on Hinata’s cheeks. “Talk to me, please? I’m right here.”

A shift of his shoulders, the faint sound of rustling as Hinata shakes his head against his pillow, inhaling a shaky breath.   
It’s more than Komaeda gets on some nights. Where Hinata stares blankly at the wall and won’t even give him that much acknowledgment, not because he’s ignoring, or pouting, but because he’s so far away sometimes that words don’t reach his ears. 

Komaeda won’t have that. He won’t have another sleepless night. 

The mattress gives under his weight as he shifts closer again, pressed chest against Hinata’s back, arm snaking over until he can thread their fingers together. He hopes the cold sting of his metal hand is enough to keep Hinata in the here and now. Because he’s not going to give up. He owes it to Hinata, not to. Because no matter how many countless hours go by, lost to the sound of their gentle breathing in tandem, no matter how repetitive and hopeless it feels, no matter how much it hurts to see him like this, he can’t. Hinata has given him hope. The least he can do is give it back. 

After a few heavy beats of silence, unresponsiveness, Hinata moves. It’s like. It’s small at first. An action cut off halfway, like he’s debating with himself over it, which he probably is. Then he follows through with it. And Komaeda unclasps their hands, giving him room to do so, watching in almost awe as Hinata turns onto his back, no longer facing away from him. 

His eyes are watery, that much Komaeda can see from the moonlight filtering into their cabin.

Komaeda props himself up on an elbow, free hand reaching over to cup Hinata’s cheek. It’s only slightly awkward in the dark, because by now, Komaeda can navigate his counterpart by almost touch alone. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Hinata is still for a moment. Then nods. Realizes that might be hard to see so he lets out a low “yeah,” of assent, voice rough and weak, from what, Komaeda doesn’t like to think about. 

Leaning down, he presses their lips together, soft but sure and the salty taste of tears strikes him, but he doesn’t mind. The gesture ends almost as fast as he’d started it though, when Komaeda seizes, and pulls himself away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says because he is. Because he wants to give Hinata comfort but all he knows how to do is _take_. Because Hinata does things for the benefit of others and never for himself and how is Komaeda supposed to know that he’s not just agreeing to be kissed to humor his lover who is useless to help him but Hinata never wants him to feel useless. “Are you sure you-“

Being cut off by a kiss is probably the nicest way of being told to shut up. 

Hinata’s mouth moves against his and for a moment, Komaeda is stunned, but he picks up the slack and leans into the gesture until Hinata is the one to move away, their foreheads pressed together. 

“Don’t apologize.”

“Okay,” Komaeda smiles weakly. “I just want to help you. I wish you’d let me.” 

“Maybe,” Hinata says. 

Maybe is a broken promise. Maybe is a bandaid. Maybe is a white lie and a forced smile and a way to spell ‘no’ with three extra letters and it’s ugly. But maybe is better than no. Maybe has hope. 

"Maybe," Komaeda agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> here u go! hope u enjoyed! no promises but if u send a komahina/kamukoma request to my tumblr (kidcarma) i may just write it because these ships live in my mind rent free


End file.
